Lock Your Trunk, Close Your Mouth
by lilnudge
Summary: Resubmitted and updated. Harry and Draco accidentally switch trunks, causing Ron to dig into places he doesn't belong...
1. Chapter 1

Harry trudged up the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitories, stuffed full of all the food from the school's feast. Ron was close behind him, followed by Hermione, who was talking (still!) about all the new classes they were taking that year.

"Yeah, yeah, Hermione, we heard you." Ron mumbled, stretching his long arms so far that he nearly knocked Harrys glasses off. "School's great--can't wait to learn--something about feeding crooks--"

Hermione snorted. "You haven't been listening at all! I said nothing about feeding anybody, nevertheless any 'crooks'. Unless you mean Crookshanks. Do you?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure Hermione, that's what I meant. Feed that damned cat I hate so much."

Hermione left, muttering about 'boys' and cooing to her cat, insisting that Ron was just a git and didn't know what he was talking about. Harry opened the door to the boys dorms. Neville was asleep in his school robes and Dean Thomas was changing on his own bed, near the front of the room.

"Hey guys," he called, his voice muffled by his nightshirt. "Long time, no see, eh?" Harry nodded and sat down on his own bed. "Neville sure did fall asleep fast, huh Dean?"

The black boy frowned and sighed. "Poor guy. I'm surprised he didn't fall asleep at dinner. Pale as ghost too. I hope nothing's the matter. I mean, his grandmother is a little old. I hope she's alright." He sighed, and Neville stirred.

Harry frowned as well. "Maybe he's just tired. Or sick. He'll be alright tomorrow." The words practically slipped out of Harry's mouth with little effort on his part, and to him the statement seemed rather more hopeful than truthful. But then Seamus Finnigan entered, and anything sad was forgotten.

"'Alo all!" He nearly shouted, jumping on the corner of Neville's bed and immediately jerking him out of his slumber. "Mighty nice feast tonight, eh? I stuffed meself sure, that I did." He smiled at Neville, who rubbed his sleepy eyes and smiled back. "Get off, Seamus," the chubby boy murmured, pushing the Irish boy off of his legs. "I can't feel my feet."

Seamus just smiled. "You feeling alright, lad?" He asked, putting both his palms all over Neville's tired face. Neville sputtered and pushed the cold hands away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just. . . I visited my parents last night, and I'm a little tired." He responded, trying once again to force the sandy- haired boy off of him.

"You sure?" Harry asked, moving across the room to his bed, but never looking away from Mr. Longbottom.

"Yeah," Neville said, blushing, "I just didn't sleep well, that's all."

Immediately Seamus jumped off the blond's bed (Earning an "aha!" of triumph from the bed's true occupant) and became very maternal of the small boy.

"Yeh heard him," he said, shaking his finger in a way very reminicent of Mrs. Weasley. "Leave the poor laddy alone. He's a wee bit pooped, I'm telling yous. Poor mite." He shooed Harry the rest of the way to his bed, and then proceeded to do the same to Ron, though he navigated him into the trunk at the bottom of his own bed, making Ron let out a series of curses strung together in rather creative ways.

Harry laughed. "Watch out for those trunks, Ron," he scolded lightly, "they just jump right out of no where."

"Oh shut-up, Harry," Ron hissed good naturedly, and opened his trunk, producing a pair of pajamas.

Harry moved down to his trunk and easily slid the lock off with an 'alohomora' charm. (For he had lost the key to it back at the Dursley's house, and they were not about to buy him a new one.) However, when he propped the lid open, he was staring at a rather unfamiliar set of robes.

'What's this?' he wondered to himself, before pulling the garment from the trunk. It was a set of casual dress robes, all black, that one might wear to Hogsmeade or someplace where they wished not to wear their school uniform. "Is this yours, Ron?" He asked, showing it to the red haired boy as the latter slipped his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.

"No, why? It's not yours?" He answered.

"Nah," Harry started, then cut himself off. Inside was a scarf of green and silver. "Slytherin colors!" He yelped in surprise, and Ron moved over to his side with his eyebrows raised.

"What are you on about, Harr--" He paused and pulled out a set of school robes, endowed with the Slytherin badge. "Harry, I don't reckon these are your things..."

Dean came over and slid onto Harry's bed, pulling the robes from Ron's fingers. "Nope," he confirmed, looking inside the robe collar and then back at Harry. "He's right, they're not." He paused again, and inspected the garmet. It was definately new and of good quality.

"Then whose ARE they?" Harry asked, but could feel his voice hitching on itself. Inside, somewhere, he knew whose they must be. According to the books in the trunk (Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5) the person was in his year, and about Harry's size. . .

"I'll give you 3 guesses," Seamus jumped in, peering over Dean's shoulder. "And the first two don't count."

Harry groaned. "Draco Malfoy?" He asked pitifully, and Seamus smiled broadly, tapping his nose.

"Right in one, Harry ol' boy. Right in one." He responded, raking through the trunk.

"What are you doing?" Harry prodded as the small Irish boy leafed through the Slytherin's things. He looked up, sandy bangs dangling in front of his face. He looked puzzled.

"You serious?" He asked, then seeing that Harry was serious indeed, added, "Well, you don't as well think I'm going to take this opportunity laying down, do ye?"

The look on Harry's face was that on pure bemusement. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly, watching the boys face for any signs of a clue.

Ron chuckled behind Harry, and pulled out Malfoy's new cauldron, which was filled with new socks. "This is the chance of a lifetime. A chance to see exactly what makes up a dirty, filthy, pretentious, snobbish, rich, blond, Slytherin boy's mind."

Harry frowned again. "What? You're talking in riddles, Weasley. Just spit it out."

Dean sniggered and leaned close to Harry's face. Then he whispered, "We want to look at his stuff." Harry's eyes widened in a new understanding, and even Neville laughed at him.

"Clever boy, you are, Harry. Quite clever."

Harry threw the robes he was holding at Neville's head, and dug into the trunk. What he found at first were a few sets of robes, all new and including new dress robes. His school books were all dumped precariously in his trunk, as if he could care less if they were in there or not. His replacement potions ingredients were all safely wrapped in brown paper and stored away in a corner. Things like his toothbrush and hairbrush (and a round container of hair gel) were all packed together in a wire basket.

"This boy is more boring than Hermione is," Ron sighed and sat back against the bed. Harry had to agree, for the Slytherin had shown no personal affects of any kind as of late, and Hermione always claimed that she used the extra space in her trunk for more books, rather than wasting it on needless accessories. Suddenly, Seamus let out a rather girlish squeal.

"Oh, look laddies! Malfoy's got a photo album!" 


	2. Rifling Through

"Er, Seamus," Ron started, rubbing his neck. "I got a quick question." The Irish boy stared straight back at his friend, his fingers ready to pry open the book's cover. "Yes?" He asked innocently.

"Why do we care if Malfoy's got an album full of pictures? Probably of himself."

Neville laughed, but sat next to Seamus on the floor. "I dunno, Ron, I sorta want to see them. You know, even if they are all of Malfoy."

With that, Seamus opened the album to reveal the first page of the book. On it was a rather large picture of a woman that Harry immediately recognized as Malfoy's mother, though she wasn't frowning like Harry had seen her. Though far from smiling, she was definately compliant to take the head-shot.

"She's pretty," Dean said, voicing their opinions, though none of the other boys would admit it, and Seamus turned the page.

It was a poorly taken wizard photo, and the people in it moved akwardly and were out of focus. It was a short boy with silver hair, whom Harry assumed was a young Malfoy, standing next to a tall man wearing all black. The boy would suddenly duck out of the picture with wide eyes, as though something from behind the camera was chasing after him. Definately odd, but nothing too amusing, so Seamus turned to the next page.

There were a few pictures on the next page, but only one of which really caught Harry's eye. It was worn around the edges and one of the corners was taped on, so it looked as though it had been involved in some sort of struggle. On it was a man whom Harry did not immediately recognize, with a small Malfoy in his lap. On the back was written, "Me and Draco--August 3rd, '84"

Harry pulled the book towards his lap. If he didn't know any better, (which he did,) he would have thought that man looked like Professor Snape. He did bear a remarkable resemblance to him, but Harry shook off the thought. Snape wasn't the kind of guy who liked kids; he wasn't the kind of guy who let kids sit on his lap; he wasn't the kind of guy who allowed pictures to be taken on him. That couldn't be Snape. And yet...

The next page confirmed his thoughts, along with Neville's, who unconsciously slunk further back behind Seamus. "That's Snape!" Ron nearly shouted, grabbing the book out of Harry and Seamus' hands. "Ew."

Sure enough, Snape was standing at his entire height and clutched to his leg was a little brown-haired girl. She wasn't smiling up sweetly at the professor, who appeared to be (but it just wasn't possible) laughing. Harry twitched. Snape didn't laugh--or smile!

Quickly, Neville reached forward and turned the page, mumbling something like, "How much do you think I can take?" The following pages contained many pictures of the girl standing beside Snape, along with a few more of Narcissa and two (count 'em, two) snapshots of Lucius Malfoy. (One of which appeared to have been taken by Draco himself, because he was looming over the picture enough to make Neville yelp. He was a scary man.)

The boys finished flipping through the book, reading the backs of most of the pictures and trying to remember where to return them when they were finished. (Dean stole a picture when no one was looking, of Draco with his head caught in a banister. The boys laughed, but none were aware that he had swiped the photograph.) Harry had soon learned the identity of the brown-haired girl from a photo of Draco and her in the snow, when it had been labled on the back in green marker: "ME AND PIP, IT WAS SNOWY."

Ron laughed. "Me and Pip." He managed to squeak before rolling over on his side, knocking into Dean who was also laughing. Harry laughed as well, but tried to cover it up. "Quiet," he hissed between fits of barely contained giggles, "Gimme that." He took the book from the Irish boy's hands, nearly ripping the cover. "Let's put this back." He moved it over the trunk and was about to plunk it in when a picture slid out. Harry knelt down on the floor and lifted it to his eyes.

In the picture was both Draco and 'Pip,' as they stood in front of a large staircase. He laughed again, and the boys came to peek over his shoulder. The girl stood in red rainboots that went past her knees, gardening gloves on both her hands, and she held a spatula in her left hand. She was wearing a clashing yellow rain slicker that dragged on the floor. Next to her and appearing to be about to pounce on the stairs, stood Draco. He was wearing unlaced, glossy boots and a red and orange pillow case he had tied around his neck to look like a cape. His right hand was extended in the air, holding a stick that still had it's leaves, and his other was gripping what appeared to be salad tongs. On his head was a shiny silver caulendar (A/N: You know, pasta strainer. I don't know how to spell it. If you do, can ya lend me a hand?) on his head. His lightly colored blonde hairs stuck through the tiny holes, as it shot out at odd angles.

To be frank, if it wasn't Malfoy, he'd be pretty cute.

They seemed to be pretending they were superheros (or trained wizards, Harry wasn't sure) and were both beaming at the camera. Neville giggled and sighed. "That's so cute," he whispered.

TBC 


	3. Ron's Big Mouth

The next morning Harry awoke feeling like he'd never slept at all. He'd been forced to sleep in his school robes after discovering his trunk had been swapped accidentally with Draco Malfoy's. Rolling out of bed, he was delighted to find the error had been cleared up-- he had gotten his own trunk back in the middle of the night. His relief was washed quickly away as he realized some very important factors.

1. He had Malfoy's trunk, which meant Malfoy had his.  
2. He went THROUGH Malfoy's trunk, which meant Malfoy probably went through his.  
3. Either all his underwear was probably missing by now, or else he was going to find dung bombs stored discreetly between all his socks.

He groaned and reluctantly flipped open the cover. Nothing appeared to be moved, but he knew Malfoy better than that. 'Surely,' he thought, 'Malfoy realized he had my trunk... unless he choses to sleep in his robes.' The thought itself was ridiculous. He saw the silk pajamas the boy had in his trunk... he was sure to have missed them greatly.

Gingerly, the Gryffindor removed each item from his trunk and did a mental inventory. When Ron awoke, he found Harry scratching his head.

"Whatcha doing up so early, Harry?" The red-head asked, frowning and miming Harry's head-scratching.

"Ron, I was just going through my trunk-"

"So you got it back then? Ew, you don't suppose Malfoy did anything to it, do you?"

"Actually Ron, I'm pretty sure Malfoy did something to it. Only problem is, everything seems in order."

Ron hovered over his shoulder. Everthing did indeed seem in order. More socks than any human could ever need, shirts, underwear, hairbrush, toothbrush...

"Mate, you don't suppose he put your toothbrush in the loo, do you?"

Harry grimaced and tossed the offending brush aside. Even if he didn't, I don't want to take the chance now. Think Hermione can copy your tootbrush and give it to me?"

Ron nodded in the affirmative. "C'mon. Let's get dressed. Hermione is probably already in the common room studying for final exams."

Harry laughed and nodded eagerly. Soon, the boys were dressed and Harry had performed a cleaning spell on his teeth. He made a face and Ron looked HORRIFIED.

"Harry, I think cleaning charms like that are reserved for dishes and dirty floors..."

Harry smiled, but looked like he was about to be sick. "I figured," he groaned, "tastes like I just swallowed pine oil." Ron stared back, confused, but Harry shook his head. "Muggle cleaner"  
"Right." Ron nodded and picked out a fresh notebook and a copy of "Muggle Magic" which looked like it had seen better days. "Muggle studies first, and Transfiguration after that, but I'm sure we have time to stop by and pick up that TOME before it starts."

Harry moaned and sat down heavily on his bed. Ron nodded sympathetically. "I know, Harry. I can't even imagine what anyone could say about "Transforming Transfiguration" that it needs about 2000 pages."

The black-haired boy said nothing, but threw his arms up in defeat. "My BOOKS, Ron," he said, feeling like a total fool. "Malfoy took all my BOOKS."

Seamus laughed from his bed, but hushed quickly when Harry shot him a death glare.

"C'mon, lad. It could be worse. I mean, just tell ol' Professor McGonagall that you can't do any of the work because all your books have gone missing... tell them it was an invisibility spell gone horribly wrong."

Ron punched Harry in the arm. "Yea, Mate. The professors can't get mad if it's not your fault."

Neville tucked the bottom of his bed sheet underneath his pillow and shivered. "Tell that to Professor Snape, Ron."

Harry groaned again, louder this time, and set off down the stairwell.

Hermione was little help as the crew finally left Transfiguration. Although his first professor simply smiled sadly and told Harry to order a new copy that evening, Professor McGonagall had been furious. So furious she refused to allow Harry to look on with Ron during class. As they left class, the bushy-haired girl simply repeated back everything the professor had told Harry earlier. "You really do need to be more careful, Harry. First your toothbrush and now ALL your books! How foolish can you be?" She probably would have continued her tirade if Ron hadn't cut her off.

"Come off it, Hermione. Do you really think Harry can't perform a simple invisibility charm? I mean, do you really think he could mess it up on EVERY SINGLE TEXT HE OWNS?"

Hermione sniffed. "So, what did you do with them then? I know you bought them because I was there when you did it, so-"

"They got stolen."

"Stolen?"

Harry nodded. "Oh yea? By whom?"

Just then a platinum blond Slytherin turned the corner and Ron grunted, "Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Well why on Earth would he want to do something like that?"

Malfoy and his two brutes stopped only a few inches in front of the trio. "I see you just finished Transfigurations," he sneered, "I'm sure your new textbook helped?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Shut it, Malfoy. I need my books back."

"Why?" The Slytherin asked. "What happened to them?"

"You STOLE them!" Ron yelled, and Goyle cracked his knuckles.

For a moment, Malfoy feigned insult. "I don't STEAL, Weasely. Stealing is for poor people... like yourself." Ron turned red, but said nothing. "I appropriated some new items that were left in my care."

"They were my "items,"" Harry ground out.

"And I liked them, so I made them mine."

Hermione grew indignant. "But you already HAVE copies of those books. How do you expect Harry to pass his classes if he doesn't have any resources? I think you're seriously underestimating just how serious the situation is. We have OWLS this year--"

"Granger, I think you're seriously OVERestimating how much I care." He turned to the boys in front of him. "Potty. Weasel. Do hope we meet up again soon."

He made as if to push his way between the boys, but Harry and Ron refused to budge. Harry spoke first. "Give me back my books or I'll tell everyone what I found in your photo album." Malfoy sneered and pulled back from the boys, straightening his hair with the palms of his hands.

"Like I care Potter. I'm sure it's not too scandalous to have a few pictures of your family when you're away from home. Come back when you have a real threat for me."

Ron stepped forward, so close to Malfoy his breath moved the shorter boy's blonde locks. "Why don't you tell me a little about PIP then, if you have nothing to hide."

Hermione watched as a smile grew across Harry's face and she did her best to immitate it. Although she was at a loss as to what he was smiling about, she wanted to give Malfoy the impression that they were all in it together.

The Ron's surprise, Malfoy's eyes flashed, and the boys behind him seemed to have similar reactions. Surely the Slytherin's wouldn't be so traumatized if word got out that they were normal as children?

There was a moment where no one moved, when suddenly Malfoy glared hatefully and stormed away, the two goons trailing behind him.

Harry laughed. "I can't believe his reputation means that much to him."

The trio was walking across the grounds after supper when someone in Slytherin robes came running up behind them, apparently very out of breath. Harry drew his wand, but waited until the girl was upon them. She stood for a moment, catching her breath, and Harry noticed her pug-like face was flushed pink.

"Trepipsa," she finally choked out.

"What?" Harry asked, but the girl was staring at Ron.

"Her name was Trepipsa, she was greek."

Ron stared and let his mouth hang agog. The Slytherin in front of him regained her composure and wrinkled her nose. "You'd take care not to ask about her again."

Hermioned stepped forward and glared in the girl's face. "Why should we?" Harry could tell she was as confused as the two boys, but she faked understanding and indignance all the same. Parkinson growled and turned back to Ron.

"You wanted to know who she was and I told you. Now drop it." Her eyes were cold and dead serious.

"Well," Ron said, gaining minimal understanding, "once Malfoy gets out here and tells me himself, or returns Harry's books--"

"No!" Pansy shouted, rolling her hands into fists. "Malfoy won't tell you anything and I'm putting my ass on the line to tell you this much. Just let it go."

"Not until I get my books back."

"It's not that important!" Pansy shouted, her eyes turning pink and watery. "She was a friend to half of Slytherin house when we were young. You're not doing yourself any favours by bringing it up."

Hermione touched the girl's arm, but she pulled it away and glared. The Gryffindor girl said gently, "All we want it Harry's books back. We're not trying to make anybody angry. Tell Malfoy-"

Pansy scoffed. "He'll never give your books back now. Not after what you did. Slytherin house will not forgive you."

Ron grunted at the threat, but couldn't wrap his thoughts around the conversation. "Why is she such a sensitive topic?"

For a moment, the girl glared fiercly and Harry took an unconscious step backward, but the girl sighed and put her hands on her hips. Her stance injected a tiny bit of anger into an otherwise defeated face. "She died."

Gasping, Hermione turned away, but Ron just blinked. "How?"

"I don't know!...my parents told me... No! ENOUGH!" Suddenly horrified, the girl spun on her heel and ran back toward the castle. It wasn't until she was barely a speck that the girl turned around and screamed, "Drop it, Weasley!" 


End file.
